We munch on raw ginger to ward off impending illness. It burns and makes us laugh.
An Italian woman says “Brussels is like fucking Gotham City.” She tells us to watch our wallets, there’s a lot of crime in this city. Our hostess agrees and tells us about all the times she was robbed as we drink café olés.
We sleep in a cold room, but it doesn’t bother me. Things like comfort aren’t important on tour. I’ve been able to see the good in every experience. I’ve developed an unbreakable optimism that I’m very grateful for.
Robert and I leave for my French leg of the tour. It’s 15 degrees Celsius and we drink up the sun like thirsty travellers. We arrive in Toulouse at 5am and walk to The Persimmon House. It’s still dark out. We’re silently greeted by a friendly letter, telling us to come on in and make ourselves feel at home.
The Persimmon House is a huge home/venue that is much like a time capsule. Wallpaper from the 50s, tiles and fixtures from the 30’s, it looks and smells like my grandparent’s place and makes me feel nostalgic. I perform that night to a full house of happy, beautiful people.
We spend a few days in Toulouse and Cyril shows us around.
We head to Carcassonne, an ancient and beautiful city enveloped in a protective castle. On the walk to the venue my breath is taken away about a million times. I cannot express how beautiful this city is, IT’S SO BEAUTY FULL!!!!!
I play at a trendy-looking hotel called BLOC G. The crowd, food and hotel room are excellent. We eat the most beautiful tapas with Cyril (he came from Toulouse to watch the show!) The show goes well and I chat with people who tell me how small Carcassonne is.
Despite it’s beauty and history, we notice streets full of abandoned buildings just outside the centre. Hmmm…I dream about moving here, buying property and opening a venue…
The next day, we head to Bordeaux to a legendary venue in a medieval cellar called ‘Le Fiacre’. A man named Carlos films the show with 3d cameras. We eat, drink and are merry. The show goes well and we make lots of new friends.
We sleep for two hours and head to the airport at 7am to catch a flight to London.
In London, I feel small.Pigeons inspect me hopefully and cautiously. Hundreds of people walk around pulling wheeled luggage. The rumbling tones vibrating on the gritty sidewalks create a luggage-wheel-orchestra emanating from every direction.
As the plane takes off, I look down at the European landscape. I see the beauty in it, but I don’t suck it up like I did before. I just look at it, I don’t want to miss it or feel it. I want it to bounce off of me.
In Montreal, things look familiar, but tired. Winter seems to have varnished the city with a layer of greyness, like someone turned the saturation dial way down, or like a poster that’s been left in the sun for too long.
I’m on my way home. The sun sets. The tour is over.
A new e.p. in the works and another European Tour this May, details coming soon…
xania 